The Day I Charmed the Pants Off Kurt Hummel
by buildmeapyramid
Summary: A oneshot that I would like to turn into a series should it garner enough interest. Just a bit of fluffy, smutty yumminess about Blaine's big talent-Moulin Rouge, anyone?-in the art of wooing. Rated T for now since I can't write smut to save my life.
1. Talked the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

_Title: The Day I Charmed the Pants Off Kurt Hummel_

_Author: Tati Rivers (hey, that's me!)_

_Fandom: Glee_

_Rating: T (for now) for suggestive themes and slash pairings_

_Pairing: Klaine (Kurt/Blaine)_

_Disclaimer: I own the idea for this fanfic, but I absolutely, completely, and totally do not own Glee or its characters. I've informed everyone I know, however, that I want Darren Criss with a big bow on top for my birthday, so here's hoping! ;)_

_A/N: Okay, I was brainstorming for oneshot ideas, and recalled reading somewhere that Darren Criss is fluent in Italian, hence the pitter-patter of my heart whenever his name is so much as mentioned. Anyway, it struck me that Kurt is also quite learned in French, and thus this fic was born! After all, it only stands to logic that our dear boy is a fan of being verbally wooed in Italian. At least, that's what I'm picking up._

_I might make this into a series of oneshots depending on the amount of interest it garners, as I have a few more ideas bounding about in my box of insanity—ahem, creativity—but we'll see how it goes. Feedback is very appreciated though, as always, I ask only that it be in the form of __constructive__ criticism instead of a pointless, rude flame, if you please._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The Day I Talked the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

"No, no, no, _no_, Blaine!" Kurt nearly growled in frustration as he waved animatedly at the small mountain of textbooks and paper strewn helter-skelter across Blaine's floor. "This is the most basic form of conjugation there is; how did you possibly get into Honors?"

Blaine cringed away from the impassioned glare of his new French tutor, and stared down at his lap with a look of humble shame in hopes that the rather mouthwatering pout of his lower lip would appease his wrath. But Kurt was too far gone in his lecture on conjugating verbs to pay attention to such an appealing expression, if the scowl etched upon his own features was any indication. "You've already fulfilled your foreign language requirements, so why don't you just screw it and drop this class?" Kurt lifted up his hands before letting them fall again, his palms making a harsh smacking sound as they landed on a French textbook that lay open before him. "Failing it can't possibly help you either way."

"I told you already," Blaine said slowly and with poorly disguised exhaustion, "my dad owns a trading company, so he wants me to be fluent in at least three languages before I start my internship." He shrugged. "The company is, after all, international. We do business with countries all over the world, so it kind of makes sense that I learn as many languages as possible to ease me in."

"Well, can't you take Latin or German instead—or even regular French? No offense, Blaine, but in languages, Honors is a bit out of your league." Kurt's arms were flailing about wildly in his attempt at expressing himself through frenzied gestures resembling those one would make while drowning in a lake, but he nevertheless didn't fail to present an elegantly collected picture as he sat with crossed legs on the shag carpet spread out upon Blaine's dorm room floor. His blazer lay folded neatly upon the cream-colored leather loveseat a few feet away, and his sleeves were meticulously rolled up, revealing the delicate ivory flesh of his slender forearms.

Blaine lifted up his nose at Kurt with slightly miffed expression. "Excuse me, but I'm not entirely a lost cause at languages. I am fluent in Italian, after all."

Every smidge of color drained from Kurt's already pale face before rushing back with renewed intensity until he looked like he had just been turned upside down. "Y-y-you what?" he said, only it came out as a sort of half-moaning hiss, like the noise cold water makes when you pour it on a hot oven top. His expression was like that of a deer caught in the headlights, and Blaine saw his Adam's apple bob up and down several times as he frowned in confusion at Krt's reaction to such a simple statement.

"I speak Italian?" It came out as more of a question, distracted as Blaine was by the audible panting noises that Kurt was letting forth, his full, pink lips parted as he gazed at Blaine in what could only be described as pure, unadulterated _hunger_. And though Blaine was not at all against Kurt gazing at him with that expression, under the circumstances it was rather a cause for concern. "You okay, Kurt?" he asked, frowning at the boy in confusion.

"Oh, I'm _fine_," Kurt practically moaned in a breathless, throaty sort of voice that had an immediate—and very physical—effect on Blaine's person. The younger boy's pearly white teeth snagged on his perfectly curved bottom lip, biting down on the delicate flesh, and Blaine could only stare in bewildered awe at the incredibly delightful look of coy lust that danced in Kurt's sea-colored eyes.

Then suddenly the look was gone, replaced by an expression of hesitant curiosity, and Kurt's eyes dropped to the rug where he stared with obvious confliction, twisting his hands before raising his head and inquiring of the coffee table to Blaine's right, "C-could you, um, say something to me in Italian—just to, um, prove you're not messing with me?" Blaine wondered how it was possibly for Kurt to have so much blood in his head without exploding.

He raised in eyebrow at Kurt's request but acquiesced after a moment of hesitation and said quietly in perfectly accented Italian, "Dove sei stato per tutta la mia vita?"

At that, Kurt sat with hands clenched so tightly he was sure his nails were drawing blood, but at the moment it didn't seem to matter because Blaine had spoken to him in Italian. In _Italian_. A tiny bit of drool gathered at the corner of his mouth, which was currently forming a star-struck "o" as he gazed at Blaine with reverent admiration.

And suddenly it dawned on Blaine, and his eyes widened as he recalled the posters of French people—most especially French _men_—that were hung upon Kurt's walls in his dorm room (they were fully clothed . . . for the most part), as well as a small conversation he'd had with Kurt about them. Kurt had explained with shining eyes about his fascination with foreign languages, and how he couldn't help but develop small crushes on the foreign exchange students because "having someone speak to me in a different language that I can't understand is kind of a turn-on for me". The realization hit Blaine like a freight train.

His Italian was turning Kurt on.

He grinned. This was going to be fun.

"Would you like to hear a bit more, ragazzo mio bello?" he drawled in his best seductive tone, daring to inch toward Kurt just a little as an obscenely flirtatious smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

The younger boy's eyes were starting to bulge, and he stared at Blaine with an expression of complete and utter worship. Blaine was moving even closer, all the while murmuring sweet nothings in Italian—at least Kurt thought they were sweet nothings; looking back, he realized they were probably more along the lines of downright filthy sexual innuendos. His pulse was racing so fast it felt like he was going to spontaneously combust from the pressure pounding in his chest simply from being so close—barely a foot away—to an Italian-speaking, blazer-wearing, drool-worthy Blaine Anderson. And either he had died and gone to heaven, or said Italian-speaking sex god was currently sweeping his intense hazel eyes boldly over Kurt's shaking body and licking his lips like Kurt was an ice cream cone he was about to devour as he moved toward the awestruck boy like a predator circling its prey. Strangely, the thought was far from disturbing.

"Mmm, sei una delizia." Blaine's fingertips brushed Kurt's knees, and a shudder traced down Kurt's spine. He could smell Blaine's intoxicating fragrance, like black coffee and cinnamon, plus a scent that was entirely his own, sweet and breezy, much better than Glade air fresheners, which Blaine swore by. "Ho intenzione di farti un sacco di cosacce, tesoro." Kurt could see the barely visible freckles smattered across Blaine's nose, and the way his eyelashes caressed his cheeks as his gaze swept down, practically undressing Kurt with his eyes. He felt heat wherever Blaine's stare went, and barely managed to contain the lust raging through his veins. Each word spoken in lilting, deep-voiced Italian went straight to his nether regions, until he could barely see straight, and he could taste blood from where he had bitten down on his lip. "Ho intenzione di leccarti dalla testa ai piedi"—Blaine's lips were mere inches away from Kurt's, his palms brushing against Kurt's upper thighs as he leaned in, his hands on either side of the younger boy—"e poi ricomincio da capo." His fresh, minty breath tickled Kurt's jaw as he continued with the barest hint of a low, unbearably sexy growl in his voice, "Non vedo l'ora di sentirti urlare il mio nome mentre ti faccio venire." Blaine drew away far enough to stare in Kurt's eyes, and a lock of dark hair escaped his mass of scrupulously gelled and combed curls and fell perfectly over his brow. Kurt was dying to push it away, even as he was rendered immobile by the deliciously rolling Italian that dripped like warm honey off Blaine's lips when he murmured softly, "Non hai idea di quel che mi fai." His nose skimmed Kurt's jaw as he inhaled the mouthwatering scent of Kurt's skin, and he added against the boy's neck, "Mi togli il fiato."

Kurt couldn't take it anymore.

"C'mere," he gasped, and wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck with a needy moan. "Speaking Italian like that under the age of twenty-one ought to be illegal," he mumbled just before their lips met.

"But not in private," Blaine amended swiftly against Kurt's mouth, pulling him closer as he moved over him, until they were "all horizontal", as Puck would say, on the rug, limbs entwined as they eagerly tasted each other for the first time. Kurt dragged his nails across Blaine's back, groaning loudly, as the older boy pressed adoring little kisses all over his face, murmuring, "Ti amo," over and over.

Kurt knew enough of Italian to know what Blaine had just said, and answered with a bubbly little giggle of happiness against Blaine's ear, "Took the words right out of my mouth."

* * *

"So, what _did _you say anyway?" Kurt asked, snuggling closer into Blaine's warm, bare chest and sighing as he felt the older boy bury his face in his hair. He felt more than saw Blaine's questioning expression, and hurried to explain, "I mean, that first thing you said in Italian."

"Oh." Blaine's face burrowed more deeply into the nape of Kurt's neck, and Kurt felt him smile against the delicate skin there. "That's classified."

"Come on!" Kurt whined, turning over to pout at Blaine with big, doe-like eyes. "Please." His fingertips drew light circles on Blaine's chest, and he pressed soft butterfly kisses across the boy's jaw.

Blaine closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Kurt's with a contented sigh. "You're far too persuasive for your own good," he groaned, giving Kurt a flirty kiss on the nose before he drew away to brush his lips against the hollow of Kurt's throat.

Kurt grinned and shrugged with an impish light in his eyes. "I'm a man of many talents, wouldn't you say?" He winked and waggled his eyebrows at Blaine.

Blaine stared at him for a moment before rolling on top of Kurt with an indulgent chuckle, causing the younger boy to gasp and squeal. "Are you ticklish?" he breathed against Kurt's collarbone, feeling his little wood nymph's heart skip a bit under his hand.

Kurt shook his head, pushing weakly at Blaine's shoulders and lying horribly as he answered far too quickly, "No, not one bit."

Blaine pulled back a bit to grin at the boy. "Let's find out, shall we?" And he proceeded to tickle Kurt senseless.

"Stop—stop—please—no—stop—ah!" Kurt's shrieks of laughter filled the room along with Blaine's surprisingly adorable cackling. "Blaine!"

Blaine paused in his attack with one last chuckle, pressing a kiss to Kurt's chest before he nestled into Kurt's side, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy and brushing his lips against Kurt's neck before whispering drowsily, "I said 'where have you been all my life?'"

* * *

_A/N: As always, credit goes to Number1KurtHummelFan for beta'ing earlier, unfinished versions of this fanfic, but I have rewritten it since she last saw it, so all mistakes you see are completely my fault. Also, my apologies for most likely bombing the lovely Italian language. Please message me with your corrections; they are so very appreciated, and I would hate to do any injustice to such a beautiful language, so please don't hesitate._

_And one last thing; if you want to know __everything__ Blaine said in Italian and you're too lazy to C&P everything into Google Translator, go ahead and message me and I'll send you the translation (either in English or very, very bad French, since as I said before, I'm an American. ;)_

_Okay, well, gotta go, thanks for reading!_


	2. Yelled the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

_Title: The Day I Charmed the Pants Off Kurt Hummel_

_Author: Tati Rivers (hey, that's me!)_

_Fandom: Glee_

_Rating: T (for now) for suggestive themes and slash pairings_

_Pairing: Klaine (Kurt/Blaine)_

_Disclaimer: I own the idea for this fanfic, but I absolutely, completely, and totally do not own Glee or its characters. I've informed everyone I know, however, that I want Darren Criss with a big bow on top for my birthday, so here's hoping! ;)_

_A/N: Wow, I wasn't expecting such a positive reception! Thanks so much to all the people who read, reviewed, and set this story—sometimes even me—on favorites and alerts. I am truly blown away by everyone's kind words, but special thanks must go to paperotta for letting me know about the many glaringly horrendous errors my Italian Blaine's dirty words were fraught with. My apologies to everyone for trusting Google Translator to do right by me. I hope very dearly that my seriously lacking skills in Italian didn't damage the language's beauty very much, though I did make rather a mess of it, didn't I? Ah well, what's done is done!_

_Moving on, one last thing to pay attention to . . . okay, two things. One, these oneshots will not necessarily be in chronological order, so be forewarned on that account. And second, the titles of my chapters are spin-offs of the story's title, "The Day I Charmed the Pants Off Kurt Hummel". I would have actually written "The Day I Talked the Pants Off Kurt Hummel" as the first chapter's title, but apparently that was too long, so I was forced to write simply ". . . Talked the Pants Off Kurt Hummel". Just fill in the beginnings for me, would ya lovies?_

_Alright, I'm done; enjoy!_

* * *

The Day I Yelled the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

"If you cared so much about the damn shoes, why didn't you just tell me?" Blaine's furious shriek echoed down the halls of Dalton Academy, and several teachers who had become far too used to the boys' antics simply glanced up with mild boredom before their eyes dropped back down and they resumed their previous activities.

"Because it costs _money_, Blaine! Those shoes had 'expensive' written all over them in hideously bright neon letters! Like I'm going to act like your little charity boyfriend! I already got a scholarship to this school; I don't need an absurdly huge grant from you too just so I can hang off the arm of a good-looking rich kid!" There was the distant sound of shattering glass, and one of the teachers shuffled a few papers together, muttering something under his breath about money being the root of all evil.

"Isn't that what a boyfriend does—buy his boyfriend gifts? It's not like I spend any of my allowance, and we've all heard many times over _exactly_ how you plan to commit suicide should the Marc Jacobs line ever go out of business! Honestly, Kurt, do you have to be this diffic—"

There was a resounding slap of a palm against flesh, and this time, all of the teachers looked at each with matching frowns, wondering if they should interfere with the lovers' quarrel, but they needn't have bothered. The sound of a door slamming made them all jump, and Kurt practically bulldozed into the teachers' lounge without even knocking. "Monsieur Guillaume," Kurt snapped at the slight, older gentleman with receding silver hair, "Blaine will be in need of a new French tutor as I am no longer available." And with that, he tornadoed out of the room with a rather fearsome look in his normally gentle blue eyes.

Monsieur Guillaume, needless to say, was just a bit perturbed.

* * *

"Kurt, just _think _for a minute." Jeff placed his hand on the smaller boy's shoulder awkwardly, but naturally Kurt immediately shrugged it off.

"No."

Jeff rolled his eyes and tried again: "If it were about something other than money, like Blaine's incredibly annoying ability to look like a five-year-old and a lap dancer at the same time"—Kurt glared—"I would be totally on your side, man. But as it is, this is—to put it bluntly—a rich kids' school; you're not a charity case, I swear to Mick Jagger, but it is pretty rare to get into Dalton on scholarship, and Blaine can't really help being the son of a business tycoon. It's like, in his blood, or some crap like that." Jeff shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against the desk in their third period Chemistry class, ignoring the teacher's pointed look as he gave Kurt a kind smile. "If it makes you feel better, Blaine likes to fool himself into thinking you're going to drop and run the first time you see a crack in his holier-than-thou persona, so when he says he wants to buy you something, it's only because he wants you to think he'll always take care of you."

"I don't need to be taken care of," Kurt practically snarled, his hands tightening on his textbook, and Jeff stood up straight and moved away, holding his hands up defensively.

"I'm just saying," he said before walking to the back where his seat was.

Kurt barely saw straight for the next hour.

* * *

"The next time you offer to buy me a scarf I am going to throw this coffee at your face!" Kurt screamed, nearly giving the Gap cashier a heart attack when his arm drew back to make good on his threat.

"Why is it so horrifying to you when I offer to buy you something that you _obviously _want and that I _obviously _want to give you?" Blaine roared back, his hazel eyes flashing.

"Not the pants, not the pants!" the sales lady screamed, just as a fountain of fresh caramel mocha was tossed high in the air, arching over a rack of delicate, far too pricey scarves to splash hot and wet all over Blaine's cream-colored pullover and leaving a decorative assortment of dark stains upon at least a dozen pairs of designer jeans just behind him.

It took a moment for Kurt to realize the damage he had done, and when he did the mostly empty coffee cup slipped out of his fingers, the remaining portion of the mocha spilling onto the floor, and his hands flew up to cover his mouth, his eyes widening in horror at the destruction he had caused. There was his three-dollar mocha sprayed across the Gap floor, staining thousands of dollars' worth of clothes, not to mention Blaine, who was busy peeling his dripping pullover away from his body; a bit of coffee had even gotten on the cashier.

Which is why, twenty minutes later, after numerous calls for security and clean-up service, Blaine and Kurt walked out of Gap weighed down with ginormous bags filled with coffee-stained jeans, scarves, and other accessories that they—meaning Blaine—had been forced to purchase after the manager arrived and began screaming at them in rapid Spanish which even Blaine understood was not entirely appropriate for young audiences.

"You know, if you'd just let me buy the scarf in the first place," Blaine grumbled, grunting as he shifted the majority of the shopping bags to his left arm so he could fumble in his pockets for his car keys, "I would not be spending the weekend getting the stains out of twenty-four pairs of boot-cut jeans that _aren't even my size_, not to mention bleaching the hell out of _fifty-seven_ handmade scarves."

"Puh-lease," Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes at the older boy, "like you'll be doing any bleaching this weekend. We both know I'll end up doing it because you don't even know how to work a washing machine, let alone remove stains from Indian scarves."

Blaine didn't stop muttering under his breath with rather colorful language blending with the mad ravings about the faults of a society where one must spend a small fortune to rectify one's boyfriend throwing a caramel mocha with very poor aim. Kurt hadn't _meant_ to hit the jeans, or the scarves, or the ties, or the vests, or the packs of boxers in the plus-size section of the underwear department, so why did they have to buy everything that damned coffee had touched? "It's all the president's fault, stupid totalitarian psychopath," Blaine ranted to himself, and Kurt cocked an eyebrow at him, having not been following Blaine's one-man monologue.

The ride back to Dalton was awkward, if anything. The powerful scent of coffee was coming of Blaine in waves, and Kurt was trying not to cry because his hands would be scrubbed raw and red and so not baby-soft by the time he was done restoring their purchases to full glory. Brittany would not be pleased.

Just as they were nearing the school, Blaine pulled over to the side of the road with a loud, weary sigh, and turned to face his boyfriend reluctantly. "Kurt," he began hesitantly, but then stopped. After all, what was he supposed to say? _"Hey, Kurt, 'ole buddy, 'ole pal, I'm so terribly sorry for trying to be a good boyfriend and be thoughtful and buy stuff I know you'd absolutely love and treat you like a prince. Forgive me?_

As if.

Instead, he focused on Kurt's left ear, clearing his throat before he continued slowly, "I don't want this whole I-hate-it-when-my-boyfriend-tries-to-buy-me-stuff thing to be blown out of proportion. I hate fighting with you, especially about money, and it really bothers me that our first major blow-up was about the fact that I like spending my allowance on you." Kurt's expression didn't change at all, and Blaine had to force himself to go on, his face flushing red as he tried to stay composed and calm instead of bursting into tears and pleading with Kurt not to be mad at him anymore. "I-I just—it's what I want. I love buying things for you; just seeing your eyes shine when we walk out of the store with a bag of new stuff is addicting. I can't help myself, and even though you think it's charity, Kurt, I swear it's not. You deserve everything you've ever wanted and so much more. You know I'm crazy about you, and it's only natural for me to want to make you happy. Just-just _please_, Kurt . . . I'll stop buying you stuff; I'll stop trying to get you discounts on moisturizers and spa trips; I'll stop taking you to fancy restaurants; hell, I'll tell my dad to stop sending money and I'll dress like a homeless person for the rest of my life. Just please, please don't shut me out like this. It scares me when you act like this, like you'd rather die than owe me anything. I'm always terrified that it's because you don't want to have to feel indebted to me when you'd rather leave. I just-I just know you're going to change your mind and figure out you could do so much better—" Blaine bit down hard on his bottom lip as tears started to well up in his eyes, but Kurt only turned his head forward on the road and folded his arms.

"Drive," he said shortly, his lips pursed and his hands clenched.

So Blaine did. He drove straight up and past the security gates, and managed to hold the tears back for the most part as he pulled into a parking spot in front of the dorm house. Kurt stepped out of the car without hesitation or even the slightest gentleness in his stormy blue eyes, and Blaine reluctantly did the same, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve so he wouldn't alarm his classmates, but his nose remained a violent shade of red, much to his chagrin.

It came as a terrible shock when Kurt grabbed him by the collar and practically _dragged_ him inside the building, past the gawping students in the commons, up the stairs, until they were standing in front of Blaine's door, both of them breathing heavily with exertion. It came as a terrible shock when Kurt reached out, yanking Blaine toward him, and crashed his lips down on the older boy's, moaning into his mouth as he found the door knob, turned it, and shoved Blaine inside, still kissing him with desperate, furious need. It came as a terrible shock when Blaine felt himself pushed backwards with surprising force, causing him to topple onto the four-poster bed with Kurt scrambling up on top of him, his face flushed as he found Blaine's neck and attacked with his tongue and teeth.

But the biggest shock of all came when Blaine—having been preoccupied groaning and pulling at Kurt's hair and babbling unintelligible nonsense—felt Kurt pull away, and opened his eyes just in time to hear the ripping sound of fabric and the sharp _ping _of his shirt buttons as they flew in every direction. Holy—

He tried to sit up, but Kurt straddled him again and gripped his wrists, pinning his arms on either side of his head and leaning down to breathe heavily in Blaine's ear, causing a shiver to run across his skin. "You would make a very bad homeless person, Blaine," he hissed, and Blaine let out a breathy moan as Kurt's lips dragged down the side of his neck, and a louder one when he felt the boy's teeth nip at his throat. "I'm not a lap dog, baby," Kurt growled against his pulse. "You don't have to buy me new things to keep me interested. Half the fun in being a fashion addict is wanting stuff I _can't have_. I know damn well you're filthy rich, so if I absolutely cannot _live_ without it, I'll tell you, Blaine, so would you please just try to get it into that daft head of yours that I'm not going anywhere?" A whimper escaped Blaine's lips as Kurt bit down—hard—on his shoulder, and he clutched at Kurt's shirt, trying to pull him closer. "Understand?" Kurt said harshly, his breath against Blaine's jaw setting the his skin on fire, and Blaine nodded eagerly, panting as he attempted to kiss Kurt, but the smaller boy smirked and leaned just out of Blaine's grasp as he demanded, "Tell me that you understand."

"I-I understand," Blaine gasped, and their mouths met again, aligning perfectly, gloriously as Kurt taught him thoroughly exactly what happened when he tried to buy Kurt's love.

The lesson went on all afternoon.

* * *

_A/N: I have only thing to say about this chapter, and here it is:_

_Ever heard of anger sex?_

_. . . It's good._


	3. Sucked the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

_Title: The Day I Charmed the Pants Off Kurt Hummel_

_Author: Tati A. Rivers (hey, that's me!)_

_Fandom: Glee_

_Rating: a very high T for some Klaine lovin' ;)_

_Pairings: Klaine (Kurt/Blaine)_

_Disclaimer: I own the idea for this fanfic, but I absolutely, completely, and totally do not own Glee or its characters. I've informed everyone I know, however, that I want Darren Criss with a big bow on top for my birthday, so here's hoping! ;)_

_A/N: . . . Oh. My. God. That. Kiss. Was. GAHHHHH! Who else watched it? They finally put the scene up on YouTube and I totally broke the replay button. When Blaine said, "You moved me," I was like "Awwww!" but then they kissed and I think I died. I was like "HOLY #%$%##$%!" Then they kissed AGAIN and now I don't think I can take much more Klaine because my heart is pretty much fried spitless right now._

_Okay, so now that I've gotten that out of my system, I have a few things to say. As always, thanks to Number1KurtHummelFan for beta'ing this chapter at a very ungodly hour of the night (hugs, girl!). You rock my suspenders, oh peachy one! Now, next order of business: the third chapter (okay, here's a spoiler: it's called "The Day I Studied the Pants Off Kurt Hummel") was in the works when I watched the "Original Songs" episode, and let me tell you, that kiss was downright inspiring, so I wrote this entire chapter on my phone last night and typed it onto my laptop at 4 in the morning—all for you! So review, dammit, and apologize for keeping me up all night! *glares* So the third—now fourth, I suppose—chapter should be out shortly, and I probably won't be able to update after that for a while since I'm going out of town. I'll try though, I promise! Also, this chapter takes place right after the Dalton performance in the "Original Songs" episode, when New Directions is preparing to perform and the Warblers are still backstage gathering up. Hence the curtain._

_Okay, I think I'm done . . . Wait! Last question: Does anyone—ANYONE—know where I can find the clip of Kurt's "Blackbird" performance? I've been looking for it EVERYWHERE! Okay, now I'm done. Enjoy!_

_P.S. If this isn't "hot" enough for you, believe me, it was on FIRE in my head. ;)_

* * *

The Day I Sucked the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

It took only a moment of indignant—not to mention _loud_—protest for Kurt to realize exactly what Blaine's intentions were, and once that knowledge dawned on him, he shut up immediately, because Blaine was _sucking _on his neck, lapping at the skin and scraping his teeth across the newly sensitized flesh, and Kurt gave an excited little shiver at the thought that only a thin red curtain separated them from the bustling backstage where New Directions was preparing to perform.

"Would you quit looking so damned _edible_ in public?" Blaine practically growled against Kurt's throat, and he bit down hard, eliciting a low moan from Kurt that hummed against the older boy's mouth. "It was all I could do not to attack you on the spot."

Honestly, Kurt wouldn't have given a flying fuck if they had ended up dry-humping on the stage in front of a candle-waving crowd, a group of horrified Warblers, Rod Remington, a very pissed-off female politician, and a nun; if Blaine just fastened his mouth to Kurt's neck in that magical way, Kurt would have performed the Macarena butt-naked and center-stage for him.

"There is no way I'm letting you get away with looking that delicious, sweetheart, so be warned: I might have to punish you." Blaine looked up from under his lashes as Kurt let out a whimper and clutched at the other boy's shoulders desperately. "Do you think I ought to punish you, Kurt?" His hazel eyes were dark as he moved up so his breath tickled Kurt's jaw, and his fingers hooked in Kurt's belt loops, pulling Kurt's body up against his.

"Oh, _yes_, please!" Kurt panted, arching; enough teasing—he needed Blaine.

Blaine chuckled against Kurt's ear, the sound sending vibrations across Kurt's skin. "Good. I can't wait to hear you scream my name while I—"

The curtain flew open, and Kurt felt Blaine's warmth—his strong, magic hands and soft, magic lips—disappear. He mewled, his eyes closed as he bit down on his lips to keep from screaming from Blaine's torture. Every pore of his body raged with lust—that is, until he heard David's voice saying with oblivious cheerfulness, "Hey, guys, ready to go watch the last performance?"

And fuck him sideways if Kurt didn't snap his eyes open to find Blaine straightening his blazer and giving Kurt the smirk of promise that sent a wave of delirious lust through Kurt's entire body before he answered David calmly, "Of course." He strode away with the other boy before turning back once and adding, almost as an after-thought, "Coming, beautiful?" And with that his gaze swept down Kurt's body appreciatively before meeting the boy's eyes, and slowly, intentionally he licked his lips.

And Kurt's last thought before he ran after Blaine was, _Oh yes, Blaine, I'll be coming a lot tonight_.

* * *

_A/N: HAHAHAHA! I bet you thought when I titled it with "Sucked" you thought they were gonna go play some hardball in the south, didn't you, huh? Oh, don't deny it! ;) Sorry to disappoint, but the title was merely referring to Blaine's gift for giving truly monumental hickeys (we all know his mouth is very talented) But no, I still lack the ability to write about BJs without sounding like a complete 'tard, so bear with me. Let's all pray I gain some porn-writing skills soon, LOL. Even though it's surprisingly enjoyable to write just enough to get everyone's panties in a twist, and then BAM, it's over, haha. By the way, thanks for all the wonderful reviews and alerts and favorites, I really appreciate them so much. I've developed a sort of victory/oh-my-Cheetos-I've-officially-gone-mad happy jig that I perform whenever I get a review, so I have been given funny looks in such places as the mall, the bathroom, church, my family reunion, the grocery store, the donut shop, and a courtroom (I barely escaped arrest that time). Ever heard of a rain/snow/bad weather dance? Well, now I'm going to start doing my Glee dance so April will come SOON! I can't believe they are torturing us with ANOTHER hiatus (so pissed right now)! Anyway, happy camping and sorry this one was a bit short. ;)_


	4. Lit the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

_Title: The Day I Charmed the Pants Off Kurt Hummel_

_Author: Tati A. Rivers (hey, that's me!)_

_Fandom: Glee_

_Rating: okay, now we are entering official steamy make-out session era, so let me know if you think I should change it to M_

_Pairing: Klaine of course!_

_Disclaimer: I own the idea for this fanfic, but I absolutely, completely, and totally do not own Glee or its characters. I've informed everyone I know, however, that I want Darren Criss with a big bow on top for my birthday, so here's hoping! ;) Also, all rights to the song "Candles" go to Hey Monday, Caroline Sutton, and whoever else owns a piece of that genius song._

_A/N: Okay, this one was inspired by the "Candles" duet by Kurt and Blaine at Regionals (wasn't that too adorable?), and I just couldn't resist. I am never giving a spoiler again—in my last A/N I said that the next chapter would be "The Day I Studied the Pants Off Kurt Hummel", but naturally I went and got an idea that stuck to me like fly guts, and I just had to write it, so I'm very sorry, but the "Studied" chapter release has been postponed for a bit, though I hope this chapter appeases you._

_Yet again, thanks to my ever faithful beta reader, Number1KurtHummelFan, for beta'ing everything I write (if she'd actually start writing something, maybe I could return the favor *glares*). Also, to all the wonderful readers who favorite, alerted, and reviewed this story; I love you all to bits!_

_Lastly—I hope—I gave a warning in the first chapter that I would be jumping around time-wise, so this chapter takes place around Kurt and Blaine's first anniversary—no, not their wedding anniversary, you goobs; they are celebrating the anniversary of the day they first got together, which I place on the day the "Original Songs" episode aired in the United States, March 15. Some background info: Blaine comes back to Lima from college for Spring Break so he can spend this special occasion with Kurt, and well . . . stuff happens. ;)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The Day I Lit the Pants Off Kurt Hummel

"Oh my God, Blaine, I can't believe I found it!" Blaine heard Kurt squeal from behind him, and he turned to find his boyfriend of nearly one year standing with a DVD case clutched in both hands, jumping up and down with the energy of a pom-pom-wielding cheerleader. "Yes, yes, _yes_!"

Blaine stared at the boy, utterly baffled. "What—"

"The clip from Regionals last year!" Kurt said excitedly, bounding over to the TV with an absurd amount of enthusiasm for someone who'd only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before because of his boyfriend's . . . needs. "I found it!"

"Oh." Blaine smirked and moved to wrap his arms loosely around Kurt's waist as the younger boy slipped the disk into the player, and he pressed a kiss to Kurt's neck, at the spot that always made him go wild.

True to form, the gesture worked like a charm. Blaine felt Kurt's sharp intake of breath and the shudder that racked down his back just before he turned around in the circle of Blaine's arms and, without warning, shoved Blaine hard and sent him sprawling onto the loveseat. There was a moment of heavy, loud breathing before Blaine felt Kurt move on top of him, and he thought maybe he should bring out a few more old tapes, since this one seemed to get Kurt _really_ frisky.

But _every_ rational thought fled his mind when he felt Kurt's mouth on his own, nibbling and licking and sucking in all the right places, and Blaine couldn't help but moan against Kurt's lips and grasp the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. Heat was flooding his body, and it was a miracle he didn't explode from the rampant lust that was sizzling just underneath his skin with each burning touch of Kurt's magical mouth. Their bodies moved perfectly in sync, as Blaine took control and flipped them both over so that he was above Kurt with the younger boy's legs locked in a death-grip around Blaine's thighs as the older boy leaned down to nibble a slow, torturous trail across Kurt's jaw. He tasted like Godiva and strawberry shortcake—strange, considering Kurt would rather die than eat something as sinfully unhealthy as _chocolate_. And he smelled—oh, God, he smelled like a damned ice cream shop, all cherries and cream and rootbeer floats. He licked the corner of Kurt's delectable mouth and swore under his breath when Kurt let out a _growl _and dragged his nails across Blaine's scalp, his legs tightening impossibly around Blaine as he arched up against Blaine's wandering hands.

And just when Blaine thought he was going to lose his mind if some article of clothing—even a sock—didn't get taken off, Kurt looked up with hooded, lust-hazed eyes and rasped hoarsely, "We should watch the video."

Blaine groaned against Kurt's neck before propping himself up on his elbows, thrusting his hips forward in the process and causing Kurt to gasp and moan and clutch at the throw pillow behind him. "Are—you—really—_really_—sure that—you want to—watch a video—right now?" he panted, trying not to moan at the sight of Kurt's disheveled locks and kiss-bruised lips and the rosy flush that burned in the boy's ivory cheeks. It was like Christmas morning—minus the unwrapping bit because Kurt was making it very difficult for Blaine to even _get _to that part.

"Y-yeah," Kurt breathed, even as he bit his lip against the rumbling moan that escaped him when Blaine's right hand ventured lower, his thumb caressing the thin strip of silken skin that peeked out from between the hem of his shirt and the waistline of his skinny jeans.

"Kurt," Blaine sighed, purposefully avoiding Kurt's eyes because he knew with absolute certainty that Kurt would be jutting his bottom lip out in that positively mouthwatering way he had, and that would _not _help him retain a decent level of coherency.

"Blaine!" Kurt whined softly, and Blaine sighed again, and shifted to the left, just a bit away from his tantalizingly close boyfriend, before he gave in and met Kurt's eyes. He was not let down; Kurt was gazing at him like he'd just fed Pavarotti's carcass to wild vultures. "Please!" Kurt pouted.

"Damn you and your bloody charm," Blaine surrendered, bending down to give Kurt a more chaste kiss than its predecessors, and most certainly _not _regretting the fact that he would probably end up with nothing more than a light make-out session before Kurt fell asleep in his lap after the first ten minutes of "Moulin Rouge". He hated movie nights; they always meant jerking off in the shower at three in the morning while Kurt snored softly next door. Was it too much to ask that Kurt be a little bit more, well, _hormonal_? Blaine had _needs_. And Kurt was a terrible tease.

It was too bad he loved him to death for it.

"Yes!" Kurt exclaimed, leaping off the couch as soon as Blaine very reluctantly dragged himself off of Kurt's body. "You're the best, darling." He winked at Blaine over his shoulder, and then—quite possibly on purpose—bent over to retrieve the remote from under the cabinet, giving Blaine a rather impressive view of his ass.

_Dear lord, what have I done?_ Blaine sent up a prayer that he would last the night, and when Kurt came back to curl up against his side on the couch, he silently put an arm around his shoulder, setting his jaw in determination that he would not let his hormones get the best of him. It was the night before their anniversary night, and he refused to do anything that had even the slightest chance of screwing up that night; and if that included making a move when Kurt was intent on watching old performance tapes, then so be it. The upper half of his body concluded this to be the right and proper thing to do; his lower half remained decidedly unconvinced.

Kurt's head slipped a bit lower on Blaine's shoulder, and his finger traced teasing circles on Blaine's thigh as his ice cream shop scent filled Blaine's senses.

It was going to be a very, v_ery _long night.

"Oh, candles!" Kurt cried gleefully, perking up to point at the screen with a delighted grin on his face.

"What?" Blaine asked, distracted as he subtly buried his nose in Kurt's coffee-colored hair and inhaled deeply.

"You know, our first duet on stage," Kurt explained, looking a bit hurt as though Blaine had forgotten. "'Candles' by Hey Monday."

"Oh." Blaine smiled reassuringly at him and squeezed his shoulders. "Of course I remember."

Kurt gave him a small smile, and there was a glimmer of relief in his eyes before he nestled back into the curve of Blaine's side. He sang along—so did Blaine for a few lines, but it was much more enjoyable just listening to Kurt, absorbing his sweet, airy voice—and entwined his fingers with Blaine's.

_Lost sight_

_Couldn't see_

_When it was you and me_

_Blow the candles out_

_Looks like a solo tonight_

_I'm beginning to see the light_

_Blow the candles out_

_Looks like a solo tonight_

_But I think I'll be alright_

Kurt sighed contentedly. "I love this song," he said softly, pressing a kiss to Blaine's cheek before drawing his knees up and smiling at his boyfriend. "It's so romantic."

Blaine shrugged. "I always thought it seemed a little sad."

"Yeah," Kurt agreed with another drowsy sigh, "but still romantic. Maybe it's just because the title is 'Candles', but I can't help but love it." He resumed tracing invisible hearts on Blaine's thigh, and it took a moment for Blaine to rediscover his vocal chords before he could reply.

When he did, his voice was embarrassingly gruff. "What does the title have to do with it?"

Kurt snuggled even closer to Blaine. "Candles just . . . I don't know, candles are just so perfect. I think making love by candlelight is like, the most romantic thing ever. It makes my toes curl just thinking about it." He bit his lip as though regretting voicing his thoughts aloud and avoided Blaine's eyes, tucking his chin down before asking hesitantly, "Is that . . . weird?"

Blaine couldn't help but chuckle and grin like an idiot. "Absolutely not," he assured him, pressing a kiss to Kurt's temple and shaking his head because, dammit, Kurt's blush was beyond irresistible. "It's actually kind of cute," he added far too breathlessly, whirling a lock of Kurt's powder-soft hair around his index finger.

"Really?" Kurt tilted his face up and arched a brow disbelievingly, and Blaine took the opportunity to give the boy a slow, lazy kiss that did not at all suit his fantasy of pushing Kurt up against the nearest wall and ravishing him.

"Really." Although at this point, Kurt probably didn't require an answer—at least, so it would seem as he fisted his hands in Blaine's curls and pulled him closer, moaning against his mouth.

And at the very moment when Kurt finally seemed to decide to forgo a movie marathon night and his hands strayed to Blaine's zipper, Blaine was distracted by the strangest of thoughts.

_Candles._

Hmmm.

"Blaine?" Kurt was pressing hot little butterfly kisses all over Blaine's neck, his fingers tracing Blaine's lower abs.

And Blaine was exceedingly proud of himself for possessing the willpower to draw away and smirk at Kurt before turning back to the TV and saying calmly, "Let's watch 'Moulin Rouge'."

Oh, he couldn't wait for tomorrow night.

* * *

"Come on, baby, just a little bit further . . . There. Right there. No, don't take off the blindfold! Hold on a sec." Blaine tiptoed over to the corner and dimmed the lights until the candles were throwing honey-toned shadows over the walls and furniture, dancing and chasing air around the room. He had pushed the loveseat out of the way and set up a round mahogany table with two chairs, and there were two plates placed atop it on either side of a lit vanilla candle. Against the wall was a larger table laden down with bowls of fruit and Caesar salad and sautéed meat and vegetables, all surrounding a gurgling, intricately-crafted chocolate fountain that he knew Kurt would gawk at. _"The carbs, oh, the carbs!" _He smiled to himself as he moved back to Kurt and put his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"Okay, you can take it off now." Blaine pressed a kiss to the back of Kurt's neck as the blindfold was unfastened and discarded on the floor.

"Oh," Kurt's awed whisper made it all worthwhile—the trip to New York for the silk bed sheets, the candles imported from France, the entire day spent cleaning and dusting until his nose burned with the smell of bleach and Mr. Clean, the rose petals he had plucked off thirty-six custom-ordered roses by hand, the chocolate fountain decorated with edible song notes and miniature Eiffel towers..

"Do you like it?" Blaine asked, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he tucked his chin into the crook of Kurt's neck.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt sighed, his face practically glowing as he turned in Blaine's arms to plant a sweet kiss on the boy's mouth, "I love it." His smile was infectious, and stared straight into Blaine's eyes for a moment before adding softly, "It's perfect."

Blaine chuckled. "Just like you, baby," he murmured, smiling widely just before he leaned in for a second kiss, tightening his group on the smaller boy.

"You're such a sap," Kurt sighed into his mouth, twining his arms around Blaine's neck to pull him closer, pressing their bodies together. "But I love you for it."

"Mm," was all Blaine could manage as he deepened the kiss; Kurt tasted like some sort of Willa Wonka factory, all chocolate and caramel and sugar. He moaned against Kurt's lips and slid his hands into the boy's silken hair, drawing him even closer.

Kurt mumbled something unintelligible into Blaine's mouth before pulling away an inch or so and resting his forehead against the other boy's as they both tried to catch their breath. "Sh-should we—should we try the food?" he gasped, his fingers tightening their grasp on Blaine's collar even as the words left his mouth.

Blaine groaned in response. "Why even bother?" he muttered out without thinking. "You already taste like a freaking birthday cake." He inhaled deeply when he realized what he'd said, and prepared to take it all back, but before he could, Kurt let out a breathless little fluttering laugh.

"Really? A birthday cake?"

Blaine could feel a vibrant flush tainting his neck as he ducked his head into Kurt's shoulder and just breathed in that delicious scent. "Yeah," he mumbled.

"That's just about the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," Kurt confessed, and Blaine straightened up, frowning at Kurt in confusion.

"I thought it would be weird to say something like that," he admitted softly.

Kurt shook his head quickly, a slight pink coloring his cheeks as he smiled. "Not at all," he whispered, tenderly brushing a curl away from Blaine's face and leaning in for another slow, mind-melting kiss. "You smell like the world's best coffee shop."

Blaine's hoarse laugh was swallowed by Kurt's mouth descending to his, and he lost track of every sane thought as he felt his insides curl in anticipation. A low moan rumbled deep in his throat, and he couldn't help but back Kurt into the table, using the surface to press closer to him, dive deeper into that delicious, candied mouth. It was like kissing a berry smoothie.

Kurt didn't hold back, gasping and moaning and wrapping his legs around Blaine's as the older boy hoisted him up to rest more easily on the table. Blaine's hands were on his ass, his lips hard at work on his throat, and Kurt's fingers were tangled in his boyfriend's wild curls as he writhed against him. "Blaine!" he whimpered shamelessly, tugging on his hair, and Blaine obediently moved up to set upon Kurt's swollen, kiss-abused lips.

They were just getting to the part where Blaine slowly, torturously slid his hands under Kurt's shirt, when Kurt stilled a bit in Blaine's arms, and mumbled his name into the kiss. "I know, baby," Blaine gasped, tugging at the hem of Kurt's shirt, but Blaine felt Kurt's hands pressing insistently against his shoulders.

"No, Blaine—ah—no, I mean—oh, God—listen—Blaine, stop for a second." Kurt sounded fairly close to hyperventilating.

Blaine groaned against Kurt's neck in frustration. "Kurt, I dare you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't make passionate love with you _on our one-year anniversary_!" he growled, scowling as he lifted his head to meet Kurt's gaze.

Kurt was chewing on his lip with that star-studded, wanton gleam in his aqua eyes, and he fidgeted in Blaine's arms. "No, no, it's not that, it's—Blaine, I—" he stuttered weakly, looking a bit desperate as his fingers curled into Blaine's shoulders. "Blaine, I-I think my pants are on fire," he whispered.

Blaine burst out laughing. "Is that—some sort of—innuendo—or something?" he gasped between wheezes. "Kurt—you can just say it—in plain English—you know." He collapsed against Kurt, unable to control his laughter, and Kurt let out a noise of frustration.

"Blaine!" he whined, pushing against the older boy's shoulders, but Blaine was too far gone to notice. "Blaine, I'm serious!"

"'I think my pants are on fire'—haha—I'm writing that one down," Blaine howled, his cackles sending vibrations along Kurt's skin, which made the situation even more awkward.

"Blaine, shut up!" Kurt snapped, glaring down at his hysterical boyfriend. "I'm perfectly serious. Get off me so my ass doesn't get a third degree burn on it. I'm practically _sitting _on a lit candle, for God's sakes!"

And finally—_finally_—Blaine sobered up just enough to think to ask, "You're serious, aren't you?" to which Kurt rolled his eyes and looked down pointedly at his left leg, where a candle had sparked a tiny but growing flame on Kurt's hip. They both stared at the enflamed jeans for a moment before Blaine jumped up with a shriek and ran toward the bathroom, yelling, "Hold on, Kurt!"

"Get some Aloe while you're in there!" Kurt called after him just to rile him up, snickering at Blaine's alarm.

Ten minutes later, Kurt's jeans were lying in a heap on the floor while Blaine examined the very slight burn on Kurt's thigh. "For crying out loud, Blaine, for the last time, I'm fine!" Kurt sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes, but Blaine just shook his head stubbornly and kept his eyes trained on the tiny mark as though attempting to remove it with his eyes alone. With a huff, Kurt folded his arms and leaned back on the bed, allowing Blaine to practice his nonexistent healing vision on the pea-sized wound. He let out a gasp of surprise when he felt Blaine's tongue lap at it, his hot mouth leaving a wet spot to cool against the air as he slid up to wrap his arms around Kurt's waist and press a soft kiss to the younger boy's shoulder.

"Sorry about the candle," he murmured against Kurt's skin, his nails digging lightly into the tender flesh of his hips.

"S' fine," Kurt gasped, still breathless from the erotic feeling of Blaine's tongue—his_ tongue_—licking that spot; he'd never imagined a burn could bring him that much pleasure. It was far, far better than Aloe.

"It really kind of messed it all up though, didn't it?" Blaine nuzzled Kurt's neck, and it was all Kurt could do not to attack him then and there. Instead, he slipped his hand onto Blaine's thigh and squeezed, feeling Blaine's breath stutter against his ear.

"No, not really," Kurt replied, only it came out in a throaty gasp as Blaine pulled him closer, until _every_ part of him was pressed up again Kurt's back. Kurt's mouth felt like a desert. "We still got to the love-making part, I think." He bit his lip, flushing at the words even as he felt excitement stirring down south.

"Mm-hm, definitely," Blaine chuckled against the nape of his neck, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades before sliding lower, his hands creeping under Kurt's shirt to tickle in light, teasing strokes up and down his back, making Kurt moan. "And you still smell like a birthday cake."

"And you still smell like a gourmet Starbucks," Kurt shot back, moaning a little as Blaine pushed up his shirt to press feather-light kisses along his lower back.

"Only this time, not only do you smell and taste like that sinfully delicious Devil's Food cake"—Blaine's light laugh sent a tremor up Kurt's spine as his kisses went further down—"but this time, I sort of blew out the candle."

And then his mouth was on that burn again, and it was all Kurt could do not to scream his need for all of Ohio to hear, because his tongue was working wonders and making him see stars. "Oh, dear sweet lord—" he breathed, his fingers tangling once more in Blaine's riotous curls as warmth unfurled and tightened inside him, tingling across his skin and making his toes curl until they turned white.

"Happy anniversary, love," Blaine murmured, his hot breath blowing on the same spot he had only moments before been using his tongue on.

Candles, Kurt decided the next morning, were his new best friends.

* * *

_A/N: Well, how'd you like that? Let me know; I love reading reviews! I try to reply to everyone, but I know I've probably missed a few; just know that I appreciate each and every person's wonderful support of this series. It is so, so fun to write, especially this chapter, since it's both the longest and the steamiest I think I've ever written. So, this time I'm really anxious for feedback, since I have absolutely no idea the effect—good or bad—this chapter will have on readers. Hopefully it'll get people a bit "hot and bothered", since, let me tell you, I was squirming just picturing the scenes in my head._

_Okay, well, I think that's it. I'll try to update soon, but you never know what'll come up, so no promises. I'm out!_


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